


The Many Tragedies of Husk

by artlesscommerce



Series: RadioHusk Week 2021 [4]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blood, Child Death, Drowning, Drunkenness, Graphic miscarriage, Gun Violence, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Memories, Miscarriage, Nightmares, No Smut, Parental Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Abuse, Trauma, World War I, semi happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artlesscommerce/pseuds/artlesscommerce
Summary: Husk drinks to forget, but sometimes it only makes the memories clearer. Alastor helps him during a bad episode.(RadioHusk week day 4: Tragedy)
Relationships: Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: RadioHusk Week 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191563
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	The Many Tragedies of Husk

**Author's Note:**

> read the tags!

Bad memories were always at the forefront of Husk's mind. They never went away, but he usually had enough distractions to make them hurt a little less. Some days were worse than others.

Today was a very bad day. And so was yesterday, and the day before. Blood, blood, blood.

Drinking was a good management strategy. If he drank a little, the memories didn't bother him so much. If he drank a lot, they faded, like the sound of a TV in another room. But it was dangerous, because if he drank  _ too _ much, the scales tipped, and it was like he was living them again. They consumed him from every angle, penetrating his senses, sending him back and forth and up and down as they saw fit. Whenever it got like that, he thought, this must be what drowning was like. 

_ He stood on the shore at Rockaway Beach. He had been in the water with his brother. He'd been bobbing along in the shallows, nothing more than a head and shoulders poking out of the water. He was saying something to Husk, ignorant of the large wave coming up behind him. He didn’t hear Husk’s warning. The wave roared over his head, and Husk saw him look up, and the wave crash down, then dissipate. In that split second, his brother disappeared.  _

_ It took three lifeguards to wrestle Husk's father out of the water, assuring him that they were searching for the body as best they could. As soon as the large man's feet hit the sand, he stopped struggling toward the currents. He turned his sights onto Husk, scrambling for him, kicking up sand and shell fragments as he ran.  _

_ He broke his fist on Husk's button nose, sending red spraying in all directions, and wrapped his meaty hands around his thin throat. Husk could taste the metallic, salty blood bubbling in his throat. _

_ "How fucking hard was it to watch him?!"  _

Husk tried to stand, immediately falling back into the chair. The world seemed sideways and tilting. He tried again, slowly, and successfully rose to his feet, taking small, stumbling steps toward the kitchen. He was in his drowning place again. The only way out of here was to drink enough to pass out. 

He never stepped back into a body of water after the drowning incident, but he spent an awful lot of time on boats. The way the ground seemed to sway beneath him reminded Husk of his time at sea. 

Both world wars. Lots of bloody underwear. 

_ He was about to fall asleep, when a hand tangled in his hair, and forced his face into the pillow. He struggled for a moment before a voice whispered, "Shut up and take it." _

_ A cold hand shoved his pants off. Oh.  _

_ Husk was good at separating his body from his mind - he'd learned that skill during his many "detentions" with Father O'Brien years ago - so he barely felt the attack. But the audacity of this guy annoyed him. _

_ When the soldier finished, Husk lifted his head just enough to speak.  _

_ "You know, if you'd’a just asked, I woulda said yes!" _

_ The guy just slapped his ass and walked away, leaving Husk to clean up. He never found out who his initial attacker was, but word got around pretty quick that he was easy meat.  _

Husk reached up and got a new bottle of bourbon from the cabinet. It immediately slipped from his shaking hands, falling to the floor with a crash. His fur stood on end; he had more than a few bad experiences with broken glass.

_ "You're so fucking careless." _

He sighed, rubbing his twitching face with his paw. With a firmer grip this time, he selected a half-empty bottle of vodka.

_ "It shoulda been you." _

Straight vodka wasn't his favorite, but he wasn't capable of pouring a chaser right now, so it'd have to do. He clutched the walls as he stumbled back to the couch, where he'd been nesting these past three days. In fact, it was where he slept most often. His wife had gotten him into the habit. 

_ "I never loved you." _

_ "Yeah, well, you're no prize, sweetheart." _

It was a lie, he'd loved her a lot, but secretly he wanted - no,  _ needed _ her to leave. He would only hold her back, and the guilt was eating him up inside. 

_ "Abortion." _

_ "No, you insufferable fucking asshole, we're getting married." _

_ "It's gonna die just like the rest of us, anyway, after a long life of hating its shitty parents. We're just cutting out the middleman." _

Husk never would have said that if he had known what was to come. One night at six months pregnant, she stumbled into the living room, waking him from his slumber on the couch. 

_ He looked at her. He looked at the large, dark spot of blood blossoming from her crotch, flowing down her legs, pooling onto the floor. _

_ "Get the keys." _

Husk shakily opened the vodka and brought the bottle to his lips. He was so drunk he forgot to swallow, choking and sputtering for a minute before catching his breath. He tried again, letting the burning liquid flow down his throat. 

Sighing with relief, Husk let himself slump to the side, too lazy to get comfortable. He didn’t even bother to wipe away the drool leaking down the side of his face - and why should he? He let his eyes drift closed.

Disjointed sounds and images overtook him. His sleep was rarely peaceful, but this was exceptionally chaotic. He felt like he was floating in the wind, only becoming grounded again when, in the real world, he felt a hand on the back of his head.

_ A backalley in Vegas with a gun down his throat. _

_ “Where’s the fucking money?!”  _

Husk’s eyes snapped open. Please, not tonight!

He bared his claws and slashed them through the air, scrambling back into the corner of the couch. A high growl was bubbling in the back of his throat. It was a moment before he registered what was in front of him. A sea of blood.

No, just a lot of red. 

Crimson eyes, a matching mop of hair, and a long, thin body clothed in the same hue. It was just Alastor. He stood out starkly against the gloomy greys of Husk’s place. 

“Oh, Husker,” he tutted.

The cat relaxed, lowering his wings and adjusting to sit more comfortably. 

“Whaddya want?”

“I was checking if you were still alive,” Alastor said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Since you couldn’t be bothered to answer the phone or radio.”

Husk was known to let his phone die, but he was usually good at answering radio calls. He turned to his side table where the radio usually was, surprised to find it empty. He peered around, spotting the thing in a pile of smashed pieces in the corner. He vaguely recalled throwing it against the wall. 

“Oh.”

“Mm,” Alastor hummed. “You smell.”

“So do you.”

“Well, it’s normal for me. You’re usually  _ fairly  _ clean.”

Husk’s eyelids were heavy. He was having real trouble keeping up with this conversation.

“Husker.”

He groaned, hiccupping at the end. His stomach then grumbled loudly. It was then that Alastor realized just how drunk Husk was.

“Husker, let me run you a bath.”

“No.”

“Yes, and while you soak in there, I’ll make you some coffee.”

“I just want to sleep,” Husk sobbed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his face.

“You can sleep when we’re done.” 

Alastor ran a shallow, warm bath for Husk. Usually when Husk was in this state, he cleaned up after him and made sure he ate well. This was an especially bad episode, though, and Husk’s odor was truly repugnant. When the tub was full enough for his liking, he went back to the couch, and helped Husk - whose joints and bones were aching worse than ever - walk to the bathroom, and guided him into the water. 

He made some coffee for each of them, disappointed at the state of the kitchen. He didn’t have time to address the pile of rotting dishes, but he did manage to mop up the spilled bourbon, and sweep the broken glass into the garbage. He gave Husk his mug of hot coffee in the bath, as promised. He had to help the cat drink it, tilting the mug into his mouth. Even then, Husk choked.

Alastor removed everything but his undershirt, not in the mood to get wet. He pumped some body wash onto his hands and lathered Husk up thoroughly, making sure to wash under his armpits and between his toes. While he was at it, he rummaged under the sink for some mouthwash. He poured some of the purple stuff into the little cap and handed it to Husk, along with an empty glass for him to spit in.

To Alastor’s horror, Husk sloshed the mouthwash around his filthy maw, and swallowed the liquid.

“Husk!”

“Mf,” he grunted.

“You’re not supposed to drink that!”

Husk stared at the cap in his hand for a second before dropping it into the bathwater. He burped. “If you gimme somethin’ with a lotta alcohol content, in a little tiny glass, I’m just gonna assume issa shot.”

Alastor shook his head in disbelief. He unplugged the drain, letting the dirty water empty out, then rinsed Husk off with the showerhead. Finally, he wrapped the cat in several towels, drying him off as best he could, before leading the man to bed.

Husk’s bed was unmade and dirty. The sheets were yellowed with age and littered with crumbs, while the thin, tattered comforter smelled like old sweat. There was only one pillow, which lacked a case. 

“How do you live like this?” Alastor wondered. He was messy, too, and not the most hygienic, but forgetting to brush his teeth was a bit different than living in squalor.

Husk just groaned, curling up on the mattress.

“You’re a perfectly intelligent, handsome, charismatic man. I don’t know why you insist on letting yourself go to waste. It’s tragic.”

He groaned again. He wasn’t even listening.

Alastor sighed, climbing into the dirty bed beside his companion. He never liked this side of Husk, which was inconvenient, because it was the more prominent side. 

“I love you, Husker.”

“Iluyyatoo,” he slurred.

Alastor scooted over, hugging Husk from behind. The cat flinched on instinct, then melted into the touch. He began purring weakly. Alastor stroked his head and ears the way he knew Husk loved until, finally, the old man was lured into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Husk :( at least he has Alastor though, right? If you enjoyed please leave a comment here or come hang out with me on instagram or twitter, @hippiehusk!


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